I am America's Senior Comedian (R).

Feed Me!

These photos are of His Benevolence, Christopher King, Supreme Ruler of 3-Space. They are suitable for framing and display in public buildings, over your desk, on coins, etc.

The stage photos, the rubble series, the beer series, and the holding-eyeglasses series are courtesy of Gregg Matthews, Orlando. All others by Chris King.

Clicking the thumbnail will show a 300dpi version.

Generally, the staged photos were taken in the olden days, around 2004. I have not aged at all, so you may regard these to be an accurate representation of what my big fat pot belly does not look like.

When the Government Man decides to stab his fat, dirty fingers at things and initiate non-linearity, you may use these in your newspaper or on your TV show if you like.

Henry Foole blows into town one day, clothing and manner both of some indeterminate era. He could have come from any place, any age. He has been bad. The director of the movie chose to make his offense a sex crime perhaps as a means of quickly and efficiently defining Henry's social offense. The crime chosen by the film's director is accessible and easily grasped by the audience, though the Fool's crimes could be of any nature, and most likely will be philosophical or aesthetic transgressions against the prevailing norms. (That is, let's not sniff around for parallels that do not exist.)

Henry meets Simon on the street. Henry is presumptuous and self-centered. He simply decides that he's going to rent Simon's mother's basement apartment, even though he has no money.

Simon is a garbage man. He is the least among society. Indeed, his station is so low that he traffics in the refuse itself of the society to which he aspires.

Upon Henry's two-fingered caress of Simon's breast, Simon becomes imbued with the spirit of the fool. "How did you know my name?" Simon goes on to shame the wise and lower the mighty. He proceeds to become one of the world's most celebrated poets.

The film is an interesting if not comprehensive treatment of the Fool archetype, an archetype which appears across all human cultures.

The honest man is always in trouble. No truer statement has ever been spoken in this world. Not only does the society in which the fool accidentally finds himself not clearly articulate its own laws, it does not follow them.

...We're all pretty bored of tracing move after move after move, back and forth, endlessly.

So let's just call it a broken government and seize all those up-for-grabs assets for ourselves, eh? If law is to be defined anew, then let decent men define it, right?

Let's start with something harmless and interesting. Take a TV network off the air for an hour. Let's wage our own terror on the system. If the system responds, just raise the stakes. Make those criminals shake in fear that they no longer control the very system they hijacked.

LONDON (AFP) â€“ A British grandmother was heavily fined and
electronically tagged for selling a goldfish to a child, triggering
criticism Wednesday of over-zealous use of animal protection laws.

Pet
shop owner Joan Higgins, 66, was fined 1,000 pounds (1,500 dollars,
1,120 euros) also given a dusk-to-dawn curfew for selling an animal to
a person under the age of 16, but her 47-year-old son Mark -- also
ordered to do community service -- slammed the ruling as a farce.

The
pair were prosecuted after the local council sent a 14-year-old boy to
buy a goldfish in a "sting" operation following reports that their
shop, Majors Pets, had sold a gerbil to a teenager with learning
difficulties.

The shopkeepers sold the fish without asking his age or how the fish would be cared for, prosecutors said.

You can read through history and use a yellow highlighter pen and chart precisely when governments officially announce that it's okay to ignore them.

I'm pretty sure this qualifies. It's kind of like mandating that the citizenry hop on one foot. Or maybe it's like flying planes into the World Trade Center.

It's fun watching governments honestly have no idea that they don't even exist anymore. It's like cocking your head and watching in disbelief as a toothless crone grandly descends the staircase as if she's the belle of the debutante ball.

An undercover law enforcement officer infiltrated a Christian
militia group to gather evidence that led to FBI raids of the
Michigan-based Hutaree group over the weekend.

Assistant
U.S. Attorney Ronald Waterstreet told U.S. Magistrate Judge Donald
Scheer this afternoon that the leader of the group, David B. Stone, 45,
of Clayton wanted the undercover agent to prepare bombs to fight law
enforcement officers, who the group regarded as enemies of the country.

The bankers who paid the Pentagon to fly drones into the Twin Towers now need to remove the only remaining collection of guys-with-guns that has the ability to resist their raping, torturing, tasing sickness of an exoskeleton jurisdiction: the unorganized militia.

The unorganized militia is defined as all able-bodied adults willing to bear arms to defend lawful government and to repel invasions.

The National Guard is not the organized militia. The Act that created the organized militia was an ol' switcheroo that duped the states into retiring their organized militias in favor of a federally funded and controlled national force. (Why do you think the governors no longer command them? It's because they are not the state militias. They are a federal force, and always were, the appearance of state control notwithstanding.)

So now the states have no defense against that rampaging exoskeleton jurisdiction. The only force able to resist the sickness in Washington is the body of the armed populace. (That's you and me.)

And don't forget that the Southern Poverty Law Center was involved in the Oklahoma City Bombing. They had an "informant" in Elohim City. In modern American law enforcement, the word "informant" is precisely synonymous with "provocateur." The SPLC, the FBI, and the ATF executed the Oklahoma City Bombing. If you do not know this, you need to go to the back of the class. Don't speak; just pick up your things and move back a few rows.

United States law enforcement are the private security for the bankers who purchased that exoskeleton jurisdiction. (That's why United States agents fly planes into buildings and then let comedians do all the law enforcement heavy-lifting.) Their next task is to eliminate the competition in the law enforcement field, the unorganized militia. They will provocateur some hillbillies into saying stupid stuff and planting some non-functional (or perhaps functional) pipe bombs somewhere.

You will also find US law enforcement whispering into the ears of the local cops that the people are now the enemies of those local cops. Divide and conquer. Your nation was annihilated by dividing and conquering. Your police and your people are now being divided. Bombs will be thrown at the police, someone will yell "Boom!" and point at the people, and then you've got your enemy (America) consume itself in internecine warfare. Easy as pie.

Governors: If the SPLC or ADL is speaking, it is a lie. They are notorious intelligence agencies. And if a United States agent is speaking, it is a lie. (Not necessarily that the agent is a congenital liar, but if he spoke the truth, he wouldn't have a job too long. When jurisdictions go corrupt, they drive out the good. At one time, I imagine that it wasn't embarrassing to tell someone at a cocktail party that you were a US law enforcement agent.)

The nation is gone. That is not hyperbole. The body politic has been destroyed. (You don't fly drones into the Twin Towers and expect everything to be okay.) All that remain now are the left-over guns and the fax machines and the US badges and gas cards. They're up for grabs.

You will want to start nullifying US laws. Remember: The jurisdiction does not exist. What you are nullifying is the execution of non-laws by US dead-enders. You will want to put them on notice that they will be arrested if they attempt to enforce US law. (In whole or in part, your choice.) That 7-series compressor will be of great legal use to you in your court cases.

I absolutely guarantee you that your cops and your people will be divided. Get them on the same side. Organize your unorganized militias.

(I needed it in hand so that I could gain admittance to the waiting area --and to the chair in which I would sleep.)

The ticket is for tomorrow morning. I figured I could always change it on the off-chance that maybe I needed to stay in town longer.

I love you folks with all my heart, but if I don't hear from anyone by late this afternoon, I'm just going to treat myself to a hotel room and stay in tonight. And then I'll leave tomorrow morning. No hard feelings.

...But I won't be back. Obviously there is some sticking point that I do not understand, some hitch that will not be fixed by any repeated trips to town.

Are you protecting me from something? If so, don't worry about me. I've been whistling past the graveyard for the past seven years, ever since I first set foot on a stage, resolute to do the material that needed doing. I've had a pretty good run. If I'm not dead or in prison by now, I must know what I'm doing. (There is a method to my seeming madness, you know.)

And what would I do with my time otherwise? Remember: One wishes that his life can be of use to others. I would rather die tomorrow having accomplished something than to die of a heart attack in ten years, crawling across the floor in one futile, final reach for the phone.

Do you remember my doctor friend Bob? When he learned he was dying of leukemia, he decided that he would buy himself a new motorcycle. Fully loaded, eight-hundred-thousand horsepower or whatever, every last bit of chrome you could possibly buy.

His girlfriend clucked at the idea. She knew that he would eventually suffer from blackouts. She didn't want him getting hurt on a motorcycle.

Bob valued my opinion. He asked for it. I said, "Bob, I would rather see you get your brains smeared all over the road under an eighteen-wheeler than to see you die in a bed."

And his eyes sparkled and he smiled a big ol' grin and he said, "Yeah." --Not just "yeah," but a yeah that plainly dripped with enthusiasm and complete agreement: sparkling eyes, big ol' grin, and a big, fat "yeaaah!"

I've got nothing to do today. I'd like to swing by and see your operation. I don't know where it is, so can you have someone call me? Or text me? 802-376-0188. (The voicemail doesn't work, but the phone receives calls just fine as long as I pick up.)

Can't I just show up? That's what I do. That's my M.O. I'm special, remember? People like me don't need tickets.

...nor does anyone else around here...

....right?

I'll be there this afternoon, standin' outside, lookin' stupid. --you'll recognize me. I brought a Vermontery gift. (I was short on cash, so I swiped the 2006 Bellows Falls-Brattleboro phone book from the train station. (It's a souvenir.))

I see the show tapes at 5:45. I don't know what time I'm supposed to be there. I'll come no later than, say, 5:20. Save a seat.

That rag of yours still got any juice left in it? Can you get away with receiving Public Enemy No. 1?

I'll stop by this morning and inquire after you. I'll tell Security you're expecting me and to ring your office and let you know I'm there. All I want from you is a friendly introduction to your city and an offer of a shower and a nap. (Not together. I mean, we can if you want to.)

03/29/2010

My trip to New York tomorrow (to arrive at 6:41 pm on train 55, the Vermonter) is a law enforcement operation. If I can make an entertainment career out of the deal, so much the better.

As we transition to a broader audience, I'm going to have to change it up real fast. The trickiest part is accommodating a rapid influx of new audience members, to get them up to speed on me and my show.

I will not allow my adversaries to frame me and my show improperly.

We've all been here together for five years. We've come to know one another. We've beaten the piss out of each other and had some laughs. Remember that sign I stapled up at the door? What's it say?

"It says, 'I am why Chris gets up in the morning. Chris does this because he loves me.' "

And I do. As much as I may gripe and grouse and storm off, I come back every day, don't I? ...As do you all, and don't think I don't appreciate it...

And remember my Prime Directive: "Everyone goes home better off for knowing me."

So as we change up the tempo and throw open the canvas and broaden the tent, let's remember our watchwords:

Peace, law, honor.

We're turning back the clock nine years. We're going to fumigate this rathole and arrest some criminals.

I call it Operation Fairy Queen. It's when the homos come to town and do everyone's job for them.

There is a place in every society for queers. See, a queer's proper place is in the kitchen, cooking for his man. But when the criminals have breached the city walls and the gate's off the hinges and everyone's getting raped and run-through and enslaved, the little faggots slam their saucepans down on the counter in disgust and roll their eyes and grab their man's shield and sword and go fix things.

Historically, every army has profited by having some faggots in their ranks. For one, all men can appreciate a beautiful man with a lilt in his voice. They're like male/female hybrids. They possess an odd power over their fellows. And there is a survival advantage for the homo; the straight men will dote on him and bring him food and pelts. And no self-respecting straight man will permit a fairy queen to outshine him on the battlefield.

It's built-in camouflage, too:

And the proper balance of male and female energy makes for a potent third force.

.

My new target date is to arrive in New York on March 30th. I will wait under the arrivals and departures sign. No one will meet me.

Therefore I will roam around New York and stir up trouble. I will go stand outside the Today Show studio the following morning and I will throw a brick through the window. (Most people just stand there in their parkas and mittens and wave. I will heave a brick through your precious window. I will announce myself by waving and jumping up and down. You'll recognize me. When you see me, get everyone out of the way. I don't want anyone getting hurt. When you see that brick in my hand, you had better get under your desks.)

Do not press charges against me when I break your window. I demand that someone from NBC meet me at the train station when I arrive. If you do not meet me, you cannot complain as I am now plainly stating to you that I will break that window. Have some class. Welcome me to New York or hold your tongue when I react precisely as I am now telling you I will.

When I get to New York, there will be the incentive among any number of criminals to set me up, trip me up, plant illegal materials on me, whatever.

Remember that I consider all aspects of my life to be onstage and I have for five years. I will not do anything that does not "play well." Above all else, I am a showman. I know what does and does not play well. I will not be armed, I will not have any contraband of any kind, and I will not be up to anything that does not play well in Chris' Behind the Music Movie.

This is the part where everyone's curtains get to match the carpets. Military, intelligence, law enforcement, news media, everyone: You had better damn well have my back. You will live up to your own advertising for once. I am going to pluck criminals out of that exoskeleton and restore decency to this abortion of a country.

March 30th. 6:45 pm. Do not let me down. Do not let the entire world watch you permit a lawman to sleep in a chair in the train station.

And why Raw Story is even linking to this tripe, I have no idea. It is not theoretically possible for Osama bin Laden to have pulled an ol' switcheroo on Flight 175 and replaced its engines. Ipso facto idiota inquirendo, the man had nothing to do with 9-11.

See, BBC is not actually in the news business. They're in the reality-creation business. They peddle lies, especially about 9-11, which is why their on-air correspondent called the collapse of Building Seven twenty minutes before it happened, even while Seven is still plainly standing and intact right behind the correspondent's shoulder.

If the BBC is speaking, it is a lie. Ignore them. They don't do news.

CNN also called Seven's collapse ahead of time. Both CNN and BBC and all other "news" outfits were working from info provided by FEMA. Who was overseeing FEMA that day? Yup: Michael Chertoff, the same man who had a hand in the writing of the Trojan horse that annihilated your nation, the USA PATRIOT Act, the same man who spirited the Israeli intelligence agents out of the country and back to Israel on "Visa violations." Four of those intelligence agents, you will recall, showed up on an Israeli TV show bragging that their "purpose was to document the event" on 9-11.

Republicans forced a new vote on fixes to historic US health care
reform legislation by finding two procedural "violations," a spokesman
for a top Democratic senator said on Thursday.

"After hours of
trying to find a way to block this, they (Republicans) found two
relatively minor provisions that are violations of Senate procedure
which means we're going to have to send it back to the House," Jim
Manley, spokesman for Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, told AFP.

It makes no difference. That government has collapsed. They can fluff their powdered wigs and bang their gavels and thrust their batons into the air all they want.

Red-blooded, free Americans have moved on.

It's really too bad that we couldn't repair that jurisdiction as I've been demanding for the past five years. I didn't want to throw the baby out with the bathwater, the jurisdiction out with the force-muliplying criminals who climbed inside that exoskeleton.

If you are reading this, you are morally and legally obligated to buy a ticket to my show, which is the professional undertaking of a professional comedian. Tickets are $100 per person, per year. Click to buy your ticket. If you truly don't have the money, you get in for free; otherwise no exceptions to this rule. Thanks, Chris.